Zero Hour
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: One final trip before Clara goes back to face the raven...


They were laughing when the cloister bell went off, Lady Me still turning a knob on the console while Clara checked the monitor, reading the Gallifreyan there now easily and furrowing her brow as she deciphered the destination her Tardis was suddenly pulling them towards. It did that on occasion, and she joked that hers must have somehow come from the same stock as the Doctor's, because she didn't always take them where they _wanted_ to go, but _somehow_ , they were always where they were _needed_.

"So, Clara, this is finally it, the one hundred and onenth destination and it seems she's chosen for you," the woman across from stated slyly, her head bowing slightly to give her a devilish look before asking in a playfully seductive voice Clara had grown all too familiar with, " _Wherever_ are we going?"

But she didn't tease back, and for a moment she was at a loss for what to say, her silence straightening her travelling partner until Clara locked eyes with her and stated simply, "Earth, 2019."

It was an old warehouse in London and if her heart could race it would, because it was exactly the sort of place the Doctor would be. She landed their Tardis and looked to the stare Lady Me was offering, saw the uncertainty there and... _just a little_.. fear? The engines slowed, and the wheezing of the brakes she purposely left on died down, and Clara closed her eyes, taking a breath she knew was unnecessary, just before turning to walk towards the door.

There were times they got it to change for them. Times it looked like a column or a port-o-potty or even a Police Box once or twice, but today it was back to the American Diner and Clara stepped cautiously over the linoleum tiled floors, hand coming up to brush over a particular red stool just before it hovered towards the handle of the front glass door through which she could see the dimly lit building and the shadowed set of people amongst the wreckage of some still-sparking machinery, a few feet away on the ground, she knew they'd come to see. She could feel Lady Me behind her, silently building up the courage to fulfill a promise – 101 trips and, hell or high water, she'd return Clara to Gallifrey.

" _Kicking and screaming_?" She'd asked curiously so long ago.

" _Unconscious, if necessary_ ," Clara had explained on a nod before smiling to add, " _Though I'd hope it wouldn't have to come to that_ ," because there wasn't a day that went by that she didn't remember how brave she'd had to be to even step out onto that street. She was resolute in maintaining that bravery to the day she stepped back into her time stream.

To the moment she died.

Now her death seemed inconsequential, looking to the man on the ground and the way he gasped up, some whispered words of encouragement towards the young woman hovering over him who sobbed in confusion. Maybe this new companion didn't yet know about regeneration; maybe she was too human to comprehend. Clara could remember the moment she'd stood on the Tardis console, just a few feet from the Doctor, and watched him, just before he'd snapped into a new man. She remembered how she'd told herself everything would be alright.

He was a _Doctor_ ; he'd heal himself.

 _Right_?

Now she approached slowly, one hand delicate against the shoulder of that new face at his side, reddened with tears, and she nodded to the small smile of recognition before telling her, "We should get him inside his Tardis."

There were no words, simply a fluid set of motions, seemingly slowed by time, as the three of them hoisted the Doctor up and into the blue box, carefully setting him down on the metal platform beside the console while he groaned. Clara smiled as the young woman asked what they should do. What _could_ they do? Glancing back at the Doctor – the Doctor whose normally boisterous bright eyes were half shut as his thin pale lips were lifted into a weak smile – Clara sighed and she could see Lady Me pulling that other woman back outside.

Clara lifted a hand hesitantly beside her head, fingers held together as she felt her eyes warm, and she snapped clearly, closing those doors behind them. Oh, how many times did she daydream about their adventures over the years. How many times did she think about that blue box and the memories she contained. She smiled, listening to the Doctor draw a long breath before she knelt beside him and glanced down at his adoring gaze.

 _Oh, how many times did she daydream about his face –_ his faces _– all of them through the years_.

"Just the Doctor and Clara Oswald in the Tardis," the Doctor whispered slowly up at her.

Clara nodded, hand stroking over his fluff of silver hair before dropping lightly to his pale cheek to sigh back, "The way it should be."

"The way it will always be," he assured with a small nod.

But she shook her head and argued, "You're a terrible liar."

"Says the terrible liar," he responded on a feigned scowl.

"You're dying, _humor me_ ," Clara whimpered.

And his brow rose as he asked quickly, on a set of gasps, "You're dead, _have you the humor_?"

They chuckled together in the silence of the Tardis.

 _Their Tardis_.

Because as many trips and adventures she had in her own, it always felt like what it was: merely a temporarily stolen vehicle. A vessel through which she could gain some sort of retribution for her death. Some sort of justice. Some sort of universal _correction_. But this place, she thought as she saw the darkened hues around her brightening and dimming; this was theirs and, she smiled, and in some way _it always would be_.

Clara touched his chest, feeling the steady thumps of his two hearts, heavy, quick, and readying his body for that change that was already touching his skin in spots with a tinge of golden color. And then she felt his cold fingers slide over her wrists, fingers pressing firmly before he took a long breath and she nodded, head bowing as his hands began to softly caress her skin, no longer searching for her pulse.

"Never re-started," Clara allowed, "Suppose it was a constant reminder. I had borrowed time and borrowed time expires at some point. I had to remember that, or else I'd never have returned."

On a genuine frown, he asked, "Did you _run_ , Clara?"

She smiled, " _Yes_ , Doctor, I did."

" _Far and wide_?" He gasped, eyes brightening.

Clara laughed, "Yes, Doctor, _I did_."

His lips pressed together as his brow dropped and he questioned, "Laughed at _every ridiculous thing_."

On a quick nod, she replied, "And cried sometimes in between."

"Oh, _Clara_ , there's no time for sadness," he breathed, wincing against some pain she refused to search for the source of, because she knew – she knew if there were a way to survive it without a regeneration, he'd have found it by now. He'd have jumped at it. Because he hated endings, especially _his own_.

They were deaths, she knew, like a clock ticking down to the inevitable final man.

Clara frowned at the thought, telling him softly, "There's always time for sadness."

"I remember you," he stated. "I remember the Cloisters." Nodding, he pointed halfheartedly with a crooked finger that landed against her arm, "It took quite a bit of time for it all to fall back into place, but I remember."

Managing a laugh, she asked, "And you never came looking?"

Shrugging weakly, he smiled up at her and then reached up to gently touch her cheek with his knuckle as he smiled at the way her dimple deepened under that small caress, "Choosing between you and the universe was never an easy decision, but it was a decision I made every day, even when it pained me to."

"Good choice," she laughed.

His eyes saddened as he told her, "I never stopped looking over my shoulder though."

Clara whispered, "I never stopped being ten paces behind."

The Doctor opened his palm and she took his hand, holding it tightly before kissing his knuckles as he explained dejectedly, "It's time."

"I know," she nodded.

"Together?" The Doctor asked.

She smiled, "Like everything we do."

"Too right," he sighed as she slipped back away from him and began her walk towards the entrance to the Tardis. Clara turned back, just at the doors, and she saw him rising up on his knees, his hands and face swirling now with regeneration energy.

"I still mean every word of it," she told him.

The Doctor smiled then, head tilting slightly, as though she hadn't the need to say what she'd said. He nodded to her and he momentarily closed his eyes, managing, "As did I."

She laughed, "You didn't say anything."

Eyes opening, he calmly grinned, responding, "Oh, _didn't I_ , Clara Oswald?" Then he nodded and gasped painfully, " _Go_."

For a moment she considered staying, but then she knew if she did, there would be consequences. Clara looked to the Doctor and they shared a knowing smile. If she stayed, she would run to him and if she held him as he changed there were no guarantees that she wouldn't die in that change. If she died in that change, she'd never return to her timeline and if that happened... the universe might end.

The Hybrid.

The words had weight heavily on her for centuries. The Doctor had said it was him; he'd said he'd become the thing most feared in fear of losing her. Lady Me had a different opinion and Clara was mostly inclined to agree. Prophecies had funny ways of fulfilling themselves and Clara's existence, _her feelings towards the Doctor_ , had as much to do with the events on Gallifrey as the Doctor's – just as she had as much a part in the destruction of the universe. If she refused to return and died in that moment, it would be on the both of them.

The Doctor smiled and she knew his mind was thinking over the same and she watched his eyes begin to glow as he nodded to her in understanding. Turning and pushing through the doors, she felt her cheeks wet with warm tears and she closed the doors behind her to look at Lady Me, holding tight to the young woman who stared up at her expectantly. With a fear in her light eyes Clara could appreciate and she moved to embrace her, pulling back to tell her quietly, "He'll be different, but he'll be very much alive and very much the same man. Be brave." She paused to watch the confusion settling in before finishing, "Be brave and help him, because he needs you."

They nodded together, an understanding only a companion of the Doctor could truly share passing between them, and then Clara stepped away, making her way towards the American diner that sat to the side. She heard Lady Me speaking quietly to that other girl a moment before her rush to catch up, remaining just a few steps behind her, just as she'd always been through the years – protecting her in some small way. They moved in and past the seats where she'd comforted too many and cried too much and laughed just enough, and then she made her way into the console space to look around at the walls and the doors and then the buttons and the levers.

Over the years they'd changed. They'd made it blue and purple and red and orange and even lime green that one time they'd gotten it terribly wrong. They'd made it furry and organic and harsh and curved and every so often they returned it to the sterile white environment they'd started with. It seemed right they'd changed it to that face in the end, and Clara smiled around at it, memorizing it once more because her memory remembered only so much, still being human. She wanted to remember it this way, if there were a place to go after her death.

"We could choose one more," Lady Me offered, hand reaching out, head cocking to the side, voice shaking slightly with understanding – there would be no more travelling after this; no more adventures in this way.

"I've had _well_ over two thousand years," Clara laughed, head bowing, "As old as the Doctor now."

Gesturing back as Clara pulled on the controls, typing a destination and twirling an odd prong, Lady Me told her desperately, "Clara. Clara, _no_ , that can't be your last stop. It's not fair."

"It's just fair _enough_ ," she replied as their Tardis landed, switching it back to the default exterior and stepping out of the silver cylinder to look at the solemn face of a General who'd had a regeneration stolen from her in Clara's name. "It's time," she told her softly.

The woman smiled back, knowing well enough the days Clara had been gifted – knowing how very _deserved_ they were – before nodding, leading Clara through the halls and towards a brilliant white room where the door to Trap Street sat open, the Raven still paused in mid-flight; the Doctor still looking on from a doorway just behind where she'd stood eons ago. Clara nodded to the moment acceptingly and she stepped out, listening to her soft steps as she made her way back to her spot and looked back to Lady Me, staring back at her, face streaked with tears.

"Live," she told her, "They've got the technology to let you." She nodded before laughing, "Live, Ashildr, because you should only get one shot at your tale and you should be in control of how it ends." She smiled and looked to the Raven, "I've made it a good one, and now we're on the final page." She smiled to herself, thinking about that leaf tucked into that book hidden safely away in the Doctor's library.

Her story began _for love_ and it would end that way.

She held her arms out at her sides as the door closed and that white light disappeared and for a moment everything remained frozen. The air around her; the bird in front; the pulse in her veins. And then it came pounding back in an instant, just before the icy feel of that Raven plunging into her.

Clara cried out in agony, not because of the pain of losing her life – the frozen tendrils that ripped the soul from her body to carry to an undisclosed location – but because of the pain of that final heartbeat. The final rush of blood through a battered broken heart, patched together as best he could by an impossible man. The final thoughts of his faces flashing through her memories like flipping through the pages of an old flicker book. The way the Doctor's lips had felt, pressed flush against hers in the Cloisters, just after she'd told him how she had _always_ loved him and _would always_ love him.

The world went silent in his single transferred thought that day so many years ago in the archives of the Time Lords – the image of her own face as the Doctor saw her – and she understood there had _never_ been a time he didn't feel the same. The Doctor never needed to say the words; Clara understood him all too well, better than anyone. She took a breath, feeling the air fill her lungs in a way it hadn't in over two thousand years, and she ignored the cold that had occupied her body, and then she exhaled as her vision faded to darkness, wondering just where she'd go next before she drifted away in the smoke.


End file.
